


Shut Up and Keep Talking

by sabinelagrande



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexuality, Captivity, Dirty Talk, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Male Bonding, No Sex, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Possessive Phil Coulson, Psychological Torture, Resisting Torture, Resisting Torture with Dirty Talk, Truth Serum, Unfortunate Analogies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth serum always leads to revelations that are far too personal. Sometimes it leads there on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Up and Keep Talking

There's no time when it's not embarrassing to get captured, but today is particularly humiliating. This wasn't supposed to be a big deal; Clint is always on point, always gives everything he's got, but this wasn't exactly the day he expected to give a hundred and ten percent.

But as it turns out, the guys they thought were just punk-ass weapons dealers are a lot more, that or they were having a particularly good day, because now Clint and Tony have been thrown into a windowless concrete cell. It's not a particularly bad cell, as these things go, but that doesn't mean Clint likes it, especially when the door seems to have sealed itself.

Clint likes even less the fact that they've left him and Tony in here with basically nothing. Clint managed to keep his pants, though they took everything he had in them, but Tony's sitting there in just his boxers and socks, looking chilly and annoyed.

"This is exactly why I don't take, like, half of SHIELD's phone calls," Tony says. "I have so many things I could be doing with my life other than this."

"It's not like this was item one on my to-do list or anything," Clint says, sitting down across from him, his back against the wall.

"What does your to-do list look like, anyway?" Tony asks. "Item one: do archery?"

Clint looks down at himself. "Actually, item one today was get my uniform altered and cleaned."

"Well, then at least you don't have to worry about-" Tony starts.

And then there's the unmistakable hiss of gas entering the room.

Clint wishes he had anything to put over his mouth, a shirt or a blanket or a pillow or anything at all, but he doesn't have anything but his hands, and trying to keep poison gas out of his lungs that way is really just kind of embarrassing.

"Well, Barton, it's been real, and it's been fun, but it ain't been real fun," Tony says. He looks completely unconcerned, but Clint knows he's not; that's just the way Tony does bravery.

Torturous moments go by, and Clint waits for the coughing to set in, the choking, but nothing is happening, not yet.

Tony grimaces. "Do you have this taste in your mouth, like-" He runs his tongue over his teeth. "Like a grape taste? Almost like Dimetapp?"

Clint's eyes go wide. "Fuck."

Tony looks at him warily. "I get this feeling you're not about to tell me you like cherry better."

Clint takes a deep breath, because he knows the damage is done now, the artificial grape flavor starting to fill his mouth. "Here's what's about to happen," he says. "We've just been dosed with truth serum, one that I honestly thought was a SHIELD urban legend, but here we are." Tony is about to say something, but Clint raises his hands. "Don't say anything for a second. It's going to lower our inhibitions as far as speech is concerned. It's bad, and it's going to get worse over time, until we reach the point where we black out. We can try to control it up until then, but just make your peace with god now, because anything you say after that is not your fault."

"Uh," Tony says, blinking. "Okay."

Clint gives him a look. "That's seriously the reaction you have to that information?"

"You've gotta give me a minute to process something like that," Tony says. "Even _my_ capabilities for dealing with weird shit are limited."

"If they send somebody in here soon, there is no amount of resistance that we can muster to keep from saying anything they want to hear," Clint tells him. "Truth serum doesn't make you tell the truth, it just makes you keep talking and makes you feel like telling the truth isn't a bad idea."

"But if we're alone, we're fine, right?" Tony says. "You're looking at me like we're not fine."

Clint points up at the security camera. "They're going to be waiting for us to talk to each other."

"I was about to say that we could just not talk at all, but then I realized how fucking ridiculous that sounded coming from me," Tony says. "So what's the plan?"

"They want to hear us talk, we'll talk," Clint says. "But we pick the topic."

"Got it," Tony says. "But ground rules: no direct questions and no commands. We're not going to start interrogating each other."

"Good plan," Clint replies. "Okay. We can't talk about anything involving SHIELD or the Avengers. That's strictly off limits."

"Well, obviously," Tony says. "Nothing involving Stark Industries or my tech either. Also, nothing involving our innermost weaknesses or shitty pasts, because one, they'll use it against us, and two, I'm pretty sure nobody wants to think about that."

"Deal," Clint says. He frowns. "What does that leave us?"

"You don't watch _Dancing with the Stars_ , do you?" Tony asks.

"Not exactly my thing," Clint says.

There's a long pause. Clint fails completely to come up with anything, which doesn't bode well for the rest of this adventure.

"Sex," Tony says suddenly.

"What?" Clint says, nonplussed.

"If we just talk about fucking, they won't get anything useful out of us," Tony explains. "If I spend my time telling you all about how hot it is when Pepper sits on my face and doesn't let me up until I've made her come four or five times, they don't actually get any information that's worth anything." He pauses. "Also I'm pretty sure the drugs just kicked in."

"Well, that's good to know," Clint says. "I mean, that the drugs are working. The part about you and Pepper is good to know in that it's hot as hell, but it isn't particularly useful to me."

"I told you so," Tony says smugly.

"So what I'm hearing is that that's working out, the two of you," Clint says; it's harder than he realized to have a conversation without asking any questions, and they've barely gotten started.

"Oh, yeah, it's awesome," Tony assures him. "I know it sounds like I'm saying this because of infatuation and everything, but even if I had no feelings for her at all, it would still be the best sex I ever had, and the fact that I can have it whenever I want it makes it even better. If it weren't for _one_ thing, it would be completely perfect."

"I'm curious as to what that thing is, but I can't actually ask," Clint says. "So if you want to tell me, you can."

"I love her more than I have ever loved anyone in my entire goddamn life," Tony says passionately, like he was just waiting to be prompted. "I am stupidly, embarrassingly in love with her. I would tear off my own arm and beat myself to death with it before I would hurt her on purpose, and I don't give a fuck if they hear me say that, because literally the whole world knows already." He lets out a heavy sigh. "But I really miss dick."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "You can buy those."

"It's not the same," Tony says, shaking his head. "Getting fucked with a strapon is fine, honestly I think I prefer it that way by a narrow margin, but I miss sucking dick."

Clint is about to say something judgmental, but that's not actually what happens. "I don't think I could deal with not sucking dick ever again," he says truthfully.

"See?" Tony says. "I love everything about her, but I just really miss it, and she can't give it to me." He shakes his head. "I hate the taste of come though. Drawback of the whole experience."

Clint gives him a look. "You can't just hate the taste of come."

"Actually, that's a pretty easy thing to hate the taste of," Tony says, like it's obvious.

"But all come doesn't taste the same," Clint argues. "That's like saying you hate salad. Maybe you hate iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing, but there's also broccoli and carrot salad, or spinach salad, or even pasta salad. You can't say you just hate salad, because there's too many kinds of salad."

"I don't feel like pasta salad is a good thing to compare come to," Tony says, frowning. "I don't like where that could go."

"I think my analogy got a little strained, but my point stands," Clint says, shrugging.

"So I guess you like come," Tony says.

"I fucking love it," Clint says. "I don't get why you'd even care about sucking dick if it didn't mean you got come. It's like the prize in the cereal box." He puts his face in his hands. "Oh my _god_ , why did you make me say that out loud? Please tell me that didn't sound as fucking stupid and disgusting to you as it did to me."

"Hey, the deal was no direct questions, and I never asked you a direct question," Tony points out. He winces. "We just kinda need to watch what we say more than I thought. And it wasn't that disgusting. Just _really_ emphatic, and further proof that you have this totally unhealthy relationship with analogies."

"Jesus Christ," Clint says, rubbing his temples. "I'm not usually this bad. I mean, I'm not great at not being slutty, but usually I hide it better."

"You don't hide it all that well," Tony says.

"Fuck off, Stark," Clint says, but he hurriedly adds, "Wait, shit, don't fuck off, you don't need to do anything," when Tony starts to move.

"As I was saying," Tony says, "I already knew you were slutty."

"Oh yeah?" Clint challenges. "Then who have I been fucking?"

"One, I don't know, and two, no direct questions," Tony says.

"There," Clint says. "If you don't know, then I'm good at hiding how much of a slut I am. QED."

"You're not allowed to say QED," Tony says. "You don't even know what QED means."

"Quod erat demonstrandum," Clint says. "Everybody knows that. I don't even have a GED and I know that." He shuts his eyes, fighting the urge to elaborate. "Tell me not to talk about why I don't have a GED."

"Don't talk about why you don't have a GED," Tony says obediently. "Quick thinking."

"Thanks," Clint says, sighing. "I don't know where we were or if we should go back there."

"We were talking about you fucking people," Tony prompts.

"Oh, right," Clint says. "Anyway, it's not like I'm fucking tons of people or anything." Tony doesn't respond, just looks at him. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that."

"I swear to god, how many times-" Tony says, catching himself before he can finish. "I mean, I think we're both clear on the direct questions rule, and I'm trying to stick to it. So I'm staring at you because I can't figure out a way to express my curiosity over your use of the phrase 'tons of people' and not 'anyone' without phrasing it as a question or a command. But if I can't think of a way, I will settle for calling bullshit."

Clint shuts his eyes, shaking his head. "This is all just gonna be so much fucking easier if I just admit I'm fucking Coulson."

"The _fuck_?" Tony says incredulously. "You're fucking _Coulson_?"

"Shit yeah," Clint says. "Pretty much whenever I can. Also I don't know if things count as questions if it's only the tone of voice that makes them a question, but we should be careful anyway."

"That was an extenuating circumstance," Tony says, waving his hand. "I wasn't exactly prepared for you to suddenly bust out with information like that. It's not that I wouldn't hit it, because the suits and the competence and everything, very hot under the right circumstances, but I wasn't ready for the revelation that you already were."

"Oh yeah, since, I dunno, definitely since before I met you," Clint says. "And he is an awesome fuck, just so we're clear."

"Huh," Tony says, turning this information over. "Well, you learn something new every day I guess."

"That's all you have to say," Clint says, trying not to make it sound like a question.

"I can't think of anything else to say that's not an obvious demand for information," Tony says. "Because I have no end of questions, to the point where I am trying not to ask so that I won't reveal that I am way too interested in this subject."

Clint glances down at Tony's crotch, then back up to his face. "I noticed."

"It's a really fucking hot mental image," Tony says. "I have this great picture in my head of you riding his cock, and I'm not gonna lie- partially because I can't- but I am almost certainly going to jack off thinking about it later. I would jack off thinking about it right this second, but I feel like it's really impolite to do it to your face without involving you."

"You're assuming I bottom," Clint says.

Tony gives him a 'come the fuck on' look. "Between you and him? Of course you bottom. And it's not like you should be acting superior. That's not your cell phone in your pocket."

Clint lets his head rest against the wall. "God, this is bullshit."

"I fucking know," Tony sighs. He gives Clint an appraising look. "I have a feeling you're not going to be receptive to the idea of getting off with me in what kind of amounts to a torture cell."

"There is nothing I would love more than to be able to tell you that you could suck my dick," Clint says, trying to be as careful as possible not to make it a suggestion or order. "Really, that sounds fucking astounding right about now, and I would be very happy to be able to say that you could suck me for hours if you wanted, but I can't, so I won't."

"I actually meant we could watch each other jerk off, even though I would certainly suck your dick if I could, so I appreciate you not asking," Tony says. "But I'm going to save my self-esteem by thinking you're not into it because of the torture thing."

"The torture thing is a factor," Clint allows. "But it's actually because Phil is really, really possessive."

"That sucks," Tony says sympathetically.

"God no," Clint says, having to make an effort not to moan. "It's so fucking hot. It's just that getting off with somebody else wouldn't make him the good kind of pissed, and I have hopes for many years of getting manhandled in the future."

"I didn't know there was a good way to be pissed off," Tony says, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Oh yeah," Clint says; that was dangerously close to being a question, but right now he doesn't give a fuck, too caught up. "He gets really pissed off when people hit on me or get too close, then when we're alone he takes it out on me, just shoves me down and fucks me hard enough that I can't forget who owns me." Clint tries not to shiver thinking about it. "Sometimes I do flirty shit just to provoke him, so that he'll do it even more."

"That sounds really fucking unhealthy," Tony says, looking concerned.

Clint shakes his head. "It's a game. I let him do it because it turns us both on. If it didn't, he'd keep his shit together or I'd leave. We talk about it. It's hard and boring and sucks, but we talk about it."

"I still don't get the attraction," Tony tells him.

"That's because you're worried that if you flirt with other people, Pepper won't-" Clint starts.

"Stop," Tony snaps, and Clint closes his mouth. "We're not playing Psychoanalysis: the Home Game. That's not a road we're going down."

"Sorry," Clint says, chagrined. "I kinda got on a roll there."

"It's okay," Tony says. "Let's just not do that again." He makes a beckoning motion. "Keep talking. We can't afford to shut up."

"There's a chance we could make it work, though," Clint says. "How do you think Pepper would feel about seeing you with another guy?"

"Direct question," Tony says. "But I dunno. Women love gay sex though, right? I mean, I like lesbians."

"I never thought about it like that, but yeah, sure, I could buy that," Clint agrees. "But if you suck my dick while she watches, it's not cheating."

"It's not?" Tony says.

"No, that's totally a rule," Clint assures him. "It's only cheating if they don't give you permission."

"I see where this is going now," Tony says. "Then Phil gives you permission, but then he comes in and 'catches' you doing it."

"Everybody goes home happy," Clint says, opening his hands. "I don't even have to come in your mouth."

"I like the way you think," Tony says. "When we get out of here, we're totally setting that up."

There's a slight lull, and Clint sighs, picking at a string on his pants. "If we get out of here."

"Hey," Tony barks, more forcefully than Clint thought he could. "We're not thinking like that, Barton. Not another fucking word like that from you. I don't want to hear about how you were kidding or being melodramatic. We're leaving here fine, and we're not going to even entertain the thought that we might not. Got it?"

"Sir, yes, sir," Clint says, a little amazed. "Um, shit, talk to me about something, I don't know what to say."

"Fuck, I'm exhausted and I'm running out of material," Tony says, rubbing his forehead. "It seems like there should be fucking volumes of things to talk about, even when you take out all the stuff we don't need to be talking about, but I'm not coming up with anything." He drums his fingers on his leg. "Um, once we got a call at the wrong time and I had to suit up wearing Pep's underwear."

"I have so many questions about that," Clint says, his eyebrows raised.

"I dunno, it was a new thing we were trying," Tony says, shrugging. "It was okay? I think I would have liked it better if they'd fit right, but they were too tight and everything was just kinda squished together. Of course, then I had to go off to fight lizard people or whatever and that took all the sexy out of it. Your turn."

"I gave Phil a handjob in the back of a transport," Clint says.

"Unprofessional," Tony chides.

"We'd been moving for hours and hours, everybody else was asleep, and we were alone, way in the back," Clint tells him. "He had his suit coat over his lap, and pretty soon he had his dick out underneath it and my hand on it. We almost got caught and I didn't get to come, but it was totally worth it. Go."

"When I finally talked Pepper into road head, she bit me on the dick," Tony says.

"No part of that makes sense," Clint says.

"She didn't agree to this process and then decide to bite me to let me know she'd changed her mind," Tony argues. "It was completely my fault, because I wasn't paying attention and had to hit the brakes too fast, then she hit her head on the steering wheel, and it was all downhill from there. In related news, I will never attempt road head again."

"One time, Phil came on me and wouldn't let me wash it off when we left for HQ," Clint says; he can feel himself blush, but there's no stopping, not with so much on the line.

"You're so much kinkier than I am," Tony says.

"I'm just as shocked as you are," Clint assures him. "It was on my stomach, so nobody could see, but I could feel it, and I spent the whole day half-hard. Your turn." Tony doesn't say anything, putting his head down and putting his hands on the back of his neck. "Come on, your turn," Clint says urgently. "Come on, Tony, we have to do this. You have to do this. We have to hold out. If coprolalia is the only thing keeping us sane, then we just have to do it."

Tony looks up at him. "One, what does that word mean, and two, how do you know it?"

"Direct questions," Clint says, trying to smile. "It's when you can't quit saying obscene things, and it was the word of the day on Dictionary.com one time."

"That has _never_ been the word of the day on Dictionary.com," Tony says.

"I'll show you," Clint promises. "We can totally look it up and have a fight about it then, but I need you to stay with me." Tony nods weakly. "Come on. Tell me something."

"Shit, um." Tony shuts his eyes. "The thing about the Maxim cover models isn't true. It started as a rumor, and I fed it because it sounded hot. I wish I had, because June in particular I really wanted to nail. Turns out she was gay, which, more power to her, but it doesn't do me any good."

"You just said you liked lesbians," Clint points out.

"I like looking at them, but people who don't like dick don't really do me any good up close and personal," Tony tells him. "I'm tired and my head is killing me."

"It's okay," Clint says, surprised he can still lie even that much. "We just need to hold out. It's gonna be okay."

"Easier said than done," Tony says. The next thing Clint knows, Tony is slapping him in the face. "Keep it together, Barton. If I have to do this, so do you."

"I can't think of anything," Clint says, shaking his head. "I don't-"

He's interrupted by the sound of heavy boots, people talking outside the door.

"Nice knowing you," Tony says.

"Thanks," Clint replies. Clint shuts his eyes, but then he hears it- they're blowing the door open, they don't have the key, it's not their captors, it's SHIELD. People in hazmat suits swarm the room; Tony starts crying in relief, and Clint doesn't blame him, not for one instant, not when he thinks he might start too.

"Coulson," Clint says feebly, as someone helps him up and wraps him in a blanket. "Where is Coulson? I need Coulson."

Clint thinks he hears a response, thinks it might be Phil's voice muffled by a visor, but he's gone before he can know for sure.

\--

Clint's mouth doesn't taste like Dimetapp anymore when he comes to; it tastes more like somebody's had their foot in it, though Clint doesn't actually know what other people's feet taste like. His surroundings have improved, though, the cell replaced by a room in SHIELD medical, which is not his favorite place to be but still worlds better than where he was. Being fully clothed again is nice too, even in slightly itchy scrubs.

"Rinse and spit," Phil says calmly, giving him a little paper cup full of blue liquid, letting Clint swish the liquid around in his mouth before offering him another cup to spit into.

"Thanks," Clint says hoarsely, as Phil throws the cups into the trash; he isn't sure why mouthwash was Phil's first stop in the recovery process, but god bless him for it. "How long was I under?"

"Four hours," Phil says, sitting down next to Clint's bed.

"How much am I gonna regret everything I said?" Clint asks reluctantly, laying back down.

"You talked about semen for twenty-five uninterrupted minutes and kept saying something incoherent about having sex with Stark and Pepper," Phil tells him.

"It makes more sense in context," Clint says, wincing.

"Relax," Phil says, running his hand over Clint's hair. "It was just you and me. Even if you'd said something terrible, I wouldn't have cared."

"You already know everything about me," Clint says, turning to nuzzle his hand. It's only a sweet moment for about fifteen seconds though, because then Clint promptly has a coughing fit.

"Here," Phil says, lifting Clint up to give him a drink of water. "You'll be fine. There shouldn't be any long-lasting effects. You're mostly just hoarse from talking so loudly for so long. Yes, you were talking very loudly, but we were in a soundproof room," Phil says preemptively. "It's alright."

"How's Tony?" Clint asks, trying to ignore the image of himself yelling all kinds of bizarre shit while Phil sat by and listened.

"I don't know," Phil admits. "I've been with you the whole time. Pepper and Doctor Banner took him back to the Tower as soon as we got you out."

"Can you make sure he's okay for me? Bonding under duress kind of a thing," Clint says, and Phil nods. Clint shuts his eyes. "I also might have told him we could have a four-way."

" _Excuse me_?" Phil says.

"Yeah," Clint says, resisting the urge to smile. "I think it would be totally hot if me and Tony did it."

"When we get home, we are going to have a discussion about that," Phil says, his voice icy, but he puts his hand over Clint's, lacing their fingers together.

"Awesome," Clint sighs, relaxing into the bed. One more little truth can't hurt.


End file.
